She is sitting on the Pikes Peak parking lot shuttle bus as we approach the main terminal of Denver International Airport. The bus is crowded, and I am standing, trying to keep my daughters from falling out of their seats as they peer through the people and out the window at the exciting airport landscape.

“It’s coming up,” I say. “Keep looking.”

A woman sitting next to them points to help my girls locate Denver’s infamous piece of public art, “Mustang,” a fierce, rearing, 32-foot-tall, 9,000-pound fiberglass equine in the center of a roundabout.

I give the woman a smile of gratitude, but get nervous when she starts talking to them about the statue.

“You know, there are some interesting stories about that bronco,” she says.

My children are small and innocent. Until they’re a few years older, my wife and I are trying to shelter them from all things evil. Seeing a big blue horse is enough of a novelty for them. They don’t need to know that the beast’s nicknames include “Blucifer,” “DIAblo” and “Satan’s Steed.”

Nor do they need to know that Luis Jiménez, the 66-year-old New Mexican artist who created the work, was killed when a massive piece of the statue fell on him in 2006. Perhaps the woman senses that she is treading in inappropriate waters, because she switches to spelling:

“The artist D-I-E-D when his sculpture fell on him,” she says.

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” I say, wondering if she is also going to tell us that the statue is haunted, as some believe, or if she is going to launch into the rest of the DIA conspiracy theories (for the full run-down, visit diaconspiracyfiles.com).

My 3-year-old saves the day and changes the subject. “Daddy, I see an airplane!” she shouts, pointing to a plane taking off in the opposite direction.

We clear the roundabout and head toward the terminal construction.

I’m relieved. I avoided an uncomfortably premature conversation about death with my children, and our family travel adventure can continue.

I know some people complain about “Mustang,” and that there is a still-active Facebook group called “DIA’s Heinous Blue Mustang Has Got To Go.” Yet I am drawn to it and wouldn’t want to see it go anywhere. Isn’t that the purpose of good art — to get people to talk and feel a little uncomfortable?

Perhaps I like the statue for the same reason I like travel itself: It is something which is not entirely safe or predictable.

Later, during our flight, my daughter brings up the “blue bronco” again. We traveled to her first dude ranch this past summer, so horses are on her mind.